


To Be Human

by Funkspiel



Series: The Dad!Hank Chronicles [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, My poor sniffly android son, Sick Character, Sickfic, dad!hank, sick!connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: A year after the protests the station catches wind of a new petty attack from anti-android bigots. A virus, non-lethal, made to simulate the common cold in machines. And Connor’s late to work.(mild mention of spoilers)





	1. Emulation

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Быть человеком](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364054) by [botya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/botya/pseuds/botya)



Hank Anderson was determined to have a good day today. He ignored the bitter, salty voice in his head that spat ‘ _Look at what that fucking android has done to you, pathetic. A good day – bullshit! You can’t just think a good day into existence, damn it!’_ And reminded himself that it would make Connor happy, whatever android equivalent that was, to see that he had at least _tried_ after the stuck-in-traffic lecture he had endured with the robotic puppy the previous day. Some bullshit about his heart and how the kid had read multiple studies recently about the positive effect of a person’s attitude on heart health.

So he decided that if he was going to have to fake a good day for the kid’s benefit, he might as well arm himself for success. That was how he found himself at his desk at a somewhat reasonable hour with a little grab bag of donuts from a joint on the corner he loved, a cup of the blackest coffee he could order and a tablet detailing the game he had missed last night because Connor had decided to cook him dinner. The kid phrased it as a favor – _“I want to learn new things outside of my programming on my own. Would you be my taste tester, Hank? I promise I’ll try out a recipe of your choice if you will!”_ – but in hindsight Hank was beginning to see a correlation between these “learn a new skill” nights and the sort of nights Hank would have an easy excuse to go the bar for. Like game nights.

And damn if he didn’t feel like a father tied all around the boy’s damn finger, because even seeing the ruse for what it was, he couldn’t deny the bloom of warmth in his chest even past all the annoyance and agitation of having his habits disturbed.

But he shook his head of those thoughts, delicately sat his prizes onto his desk like an offering being made to the day, shrugged over his snow dusted coat and scarf, and slowly began to sink into his chair. He gave the desk across from his a curious look as he realized there was no Connor there to defend his breakfast to yet. He gave the empty seat a good stare for just a moment before shrugging. Maybe this whole ‘positive attitude’ bullshit was working. After all, no Connor in the office meant he could maybe secretly enjoy his meal without having to argue with Connor about the importance of donuts in his life today. So with a dopey, early morning grin he peeled back the paper bag of his meal, drooling at the realization that the donuts had managed to keep steamy even despite the winter chill outside, and raised the bag to his nose to inhale that steam when he jolted at a familiar call --

“Hank, get in here!”

Words that never ended well – _Hank, get in here._

He whined, loud and gruff and obvious to all around him, and tried to ignore his boss until the last possible moment. But it seemed his ‘good attitude’ would be for nothing.

“ _Now Hank!_ ”

“Damn it, Jeffrey! They won’t stay warm long!” He called from his desk, wheeling around in his chair with a donut out as though that would turn the tide of their argument.

From his doorway the captain was already in the sort of body language Hank dreaded most; full on ‘I’m done with your bullshit’ arms crossed sort of spite.

With a curse Hank grabbed his coffee, clutched his donut tight and hollered, “Well I’m bringing my breakfast with me,” before giving his other, soon to be chilled donuts a mournful look as he stomped toward the captain’s office.

Being old friends with the captain did have its perks. Even though he closed the door with far more force than necessary behind him, Fowler generously didn’t say a word about Hank’s meal as he gruffy plopped down into one of the man’s chairs and took an obnoxiously large bite out of his pastry.

Mouth full he snarled, “What’s this all about, Jeffrey. It’s _early._ ”

The captain gave him a long and pointed glare, and only when Hank seemed at least somewhat cowed by the look, he said, “Some Anti-Android dumbasses have gone and created a virus. Nothing permanently damaging or fatal as far as we can tell. Some stupid idea of ‘divine justice’ is what the kid we have down in interrogation is saying. I believe his words were “if they want to be human so bad, it’s only fair they get to experience all of it”.”

Hank straightened up in his seat, his donut forgotten even as it cooled in his hand.

“What sort of virus are we talking about here?”

“From what we can tell it’s the common cold.”

Hank blinked and deadpanned a slow, “What?”

Jeffrey scrubbed a hand over his bald head and leaned back into his chair, just as tired and world weary as Hank felt.

“You heard right, Hank. The common cold. So far we’ve seen it cropping up via opened e-mail attachments through personal assistants and androids that have accessed memory storage devices. They can catch it from one another via… what the hell did they call it, _probing?_ It started downtown and it’s been spreading. Press briefing starts in 20, and it’ll likely die out from what tech is telling us. Something about shared diagnostics and firewalls. But now that the idea’s out there, we’ll likely see more and more variants.”

Hank shook his head, as though convinced this was all a joke.

“You’re pulling my leg, Jeffrey. Androids _don’t_ get sick. The kid never shuts up about it.”

“Yea, well, they do now. Or at least the virus makes their operating systems _think_ they’re sick. A series of looping commands that overwhelm their processes to simulate cold symptoms.”

“So… what? Some shit-head makes a virus, we push out a new firewall and just have to keep reacting to every virus that pops up?”

“Seems that way.”

Hank nodded slowly, eyes tight and narrow, and grumbled, “I don’t see where I come in on this. Sounds pretty wrapped up and I ain’t no techie.”

“Connor hasn’t showed up to work.”

Hank stilled.

“Yea. What of it?”

“Gavin was the one who found the first storage device we got our hands on with the source virus. Which, in and of itself isn’t suspicious but… our database got a ping late last night. Someone copied the file and sent it out in an e-mail. To Connor.”

Hank quickly stood up and dropped his donut in the bin with a curse, no longer hungry and good mood long since disappeared.

He scrubbed his nails into his beard and scowled, agitated and even more annoyed by how quickly he showed it.

“…how bad?”

“Like I said, it’s a common cold, Hank. Nothing dangerous, just… he won’t have had one before. He won’t even know he can get them. Go check on him while I prepare Gavin’s disciplinary forms. Connor hasn’t answered any of my calls.”

Hank quirked to big, bushy brows at that.

“Disciplinary forms?”

The captain just quirked his own brows back at him.

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah, well… I’m glad, but yeah. Color me surprised.”

Jeffrey snorted.

“He’s part of our team. He’s done more than enough in the year since the protests to deserve respect. I will not tolerate discrimination in this office, and no one hurts one of my men.”

Hank opened his mouth after a long beat, two words caught on his tongue, before he choked them down with a grateful little nod.

“Get going, Hank,” he said as he pulled a tablet from his drawer and began to tap away at it. “And you’re going to want to grab a shit ton of tissues on the way if the android we found yesterday was anything to go by.”

With a soft _sonofabitch_ muttered beneath his breath, Hank stormed out of the office, shoved himself back into his winter coat and rushed back to his car – his remaining donuts and coffee forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Hank reached Connor’s apartment roughly fifteen minutes later. Ever practical, the android ended up moving into a little setup just a few blocks from the station after a month or two of hiding out on Hank’s couch, learning what it meant to be _Connor_.

These halls were familiar to Hank. He had walked through them with the kid on his first tour of the place, after all, and several dozen times more in the passing year. It had been bland to begin with. Sterile white walls, white plates and clear glasses, a simple flat screen on the wall across from a simple love seat, and a rather plain looking bed with white sheets. Mostly remnants of a human concept of home as society worked to realize what home might be for an android. It pleased Hank to know that, even as bland as it still was, it had evolved somewhat significantly in the passing months as Connor himself evolved.

He liked life, as it turned out. And so his counter tops were steadily becoming covered in little pots of succulents and jars of lush green ivy and planters of fresh vegetables that he maintained and brought to work for his human coworkers – merely because making sure his human partners were functioning optimally brought the kid joy. He had a large aquarium in his living room now with a small handful of tropical fish that were steadily increasing with every paycheck gained. He had books of all sorts as he tried to navigate ‘like’ and what he did ‘like’ and what he didn’t. _Real_ books, because he took Hank at his word when the man had told him about the significance and beauty of a real book. There was a little pile of them on the counter by the door with a little sticky note atop them that read in clear, serif font – _Donate._

The books he tended to keep the most, it would seem, revolved around law, philosophy, psychology, gardening and animals, specifically aquatic marine life and dogs.

He still hadn’t quite conquered the idea of decorations however. His walls had no paintings or photographs. No intricate metal detailings or accessories. But the growing collection of plants and their colorful pots made Hank smile ever so slightly.

As always the door opened at his touch, long since programmed to recognize him just as it would recognize Connor.

He took one step inside and immediately knew something was wrong. There was, after all, a book spread open on the floor – it’s pages bent and its spine creasing. A stool from the counter was knocked over and a glass was broken on the kitchen floor. None of which had been picked up as Connor would normally surely do.  

“Connor?” Hank called out into the apartment as he took in these small but worrying signs of disarray. His frown increased when he didn’t get an immediate response. “Connor?!”

From the bedroom came a small, rough, “Hank?”

That was all he needed to rush toward the back room, nightmares of ‘what if’s’ and ‘could have beens’ from previous missions flashing through his head with just that sort of voice. Small, scared, hurt and too abused to even know he was hurting.

“Connor?” He said as he burst into the bedroom, only to still at the sight he found.

Connor was sitting in the middle of the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms fastened tightly around them, smothered by what might have been the biggest damn comforter  Hank had ever seen and twisted around him in such a way that he could only really see the kid’s blue flushed cheeks, fever glazed eyes and blue blushy nose in the makeshift hood he had made of the blankets.

Connor sniffed, eyes wet and utterly dejected, and said, “Something’s wrong, Hank.”

“Oh kid,” Hank said, voice soft, images of his own little boy doing exactly that when he was sick. “You look miserable.”

“I’ve been trying to send a diagnostic report to CyberLife for the past hour…no…thirty min…I, um…” Connor’s nose wrinkled and the little disc on his temple he still hadn’t managed to part with was glowing and flickering yellow. “It keeps bouncing back. Or not sending? I don’t… it’s hard to focus. I—”

Hank knew it was bad when he had managed to get close to the kid without him reacting until his hand was touching the android’s brow. Connor jerked reflexively, eyes puppy-wide and baffled by Hank’s sudden nearness as the gruff man scowled.

“You’re burning up, kid, stop thinking so hard.”

“My systems are saying that I am not in fact overheating, but it’s _hot_ and then it’s _cold_. Something is wrong, Hank,” he repeated.

“I know. Come on, let’s get you out of this blanket and cooled off.”

“B-but I’m _cold_!” Hank chuckled and shook his head even as he eased him gently from the covers, taking in the way the android was pouting between sniffles. “And I’m _leaking_ all the time!”

“Yea, kid. S’called a cold,” Hank said simply. “Captain says it’s your systems tricking itself. You’ll overheat yourself under all those comforters.”

“Androids don’t get colds, Hank,” Connor said with a look as cross and pointed as someone annoyed by the fact that they’re arguing whether or not grass is, in fact, green.

“They do now. Did you get any weird e-mails last night by any chance, Connor?”

Connor blinked.

“I did. Last night from Detective Reed. Something about,” a pause and a soft whirring sound, then another sniffle, “I… you know, I’m not quite sure now that I think about it. Something about analyzing evidence that he couldn’t get to the lab…”

“That dirty motherfucker,” Hank growled beneath his breath even as he told the apartment’s OS to lower the temperature of the room from the scalding hold Connor had set it to something more friendly. “There’s a new virus going around targeting androids. Giving them cold-like symptoms.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Well how do you feel, wise guy? Go on.”

Connor shrugged and muttered, “Cold,” pointedly before continuing, “Leaking non-essential fluids from my eyes and nose. My voice emitters appear to be malfunctioning. My hearing seems somewhat impaired and there’s pressure around my eyes and temple. My joints are collecting access fluids, making them sluggish and I…”

Connor trailed off with a little frown. Hank crossed his arms, arched a brow and hummed questioningly.

“It hurts,” Connor rasped. He licked his lips – chapped – and opened his mouth only to sneeze into his lap violently, loud and startling, scaring both of them.

“ _Jesus, Connor! Warn a man!”_ Hank said as he stumbled back, then with a wrinkled nose, “And for Christ’s sake _cover your mouth!_ ”

Connor for his part look as ashamed as he looked bewildered and concerned.

“I sneezed,” he said softly, awe-struck.

“Yeah, genius,” Hank said, quickly pulling a box of tissues from his bag and handing it out to Connor. When the android didn’t immediately take it, he shook it purposefully. “Go on. You’re going to need them.”

“I’m sick,” Connor said, the observation quite nearly a question, and Hank softened.

“Yeah, kid. You’re sick.”

“I don’t know how to be sick.”

Hank laughed after a long, surprised blink. A short, barky sort of laugh. And when Connor just continued to stare at him, puzzled and a little hurt, he huffed out a little chuckle and sat down on the edge of the bed with a soft, “It’s okay, kid, I know all about being sick. I’ve got you.”

“Okay, Hank,” Connor said, his voice raw and stupidly, adorably snuffled.

And then he sneezed again, gun-shot loud, scaring the shit out of them both again.


	2. Inefficiently Perfect

It turned out to be more of a struggle than Hank ever thought it would be to manage a sick Connor. On a normal day the kid was relatively easy to work with; minus the growing sass and the constant reminders that Connor was  _ built _ with law enforcement in mind and the utter abandonment of some procedures now that Connor could  _ choose  _ to follow orders.

And the licking thing.

That said, he was a good kid; eager to please, eager to problem solve and eager to listen. He was highly efficient and goal-oriented, breeding for a perfect partner all things considered - if a bit too inquisitive and chatty for Hank’s liking sometimes (or so he told himself, burying the reminder of his son’s childish wonder deep down).

But sick Connor was another beast entirely. He was easily confused and easily overwhelmed, both mentally and physically. Processes and systems that used to work in efficient nanoseconds were stalling or failing totally, leaving the kid with stumbling, unbalanced steps and miscalculated movements. His speech kept slurring and his vision would sometimes double and he’d completely miss some of Hank’s sentences - just staring out at nothing, lost on a thought Hank couldn’t fathom. 

“Hey, you even listening to me, Connor?”

Connor jumped, honest to god  _ jumped _ , and quickly turned to face Hank with a scandalized look on his face. 

“I was listening!” He yelped, only to flush a little bluer at Hank’s quirked brow. 

Hank had the good grace not to call the kid out again after that, even as adorable as Connor’s horrified pout had been, hair askew and his nose and the tips of his ears the lightest shade of embarrassed blue.

But after some pestering and a terrifying moment in the hall where Connor had insisted he was fine and then almost passed out halfway to the living room -  _ Jesus, Hank didn’t even know Androids could do that -  _ Hank had managed to get Connor squared away on the couch where he could keep a better eye on him while he went about setting the kid’s apartment straight again.

With some convincing they had finally compromised on allowing the android a  _ light  _ blanket and an oversized hoodie Hank didn’t even realize he had loaned the kid once. But seeing him in it now, practically a dress on him because Connor was so lithe, he could remember it pretty clearly. The kid had spent a good deal of time in the rain helping a less than sober Hank out by walking Sumo, and even though  _ sober  _ Hank knew that androids couldn’t get sick from the rain,  _ drunk _ Hank had been so worried about the kid when he returned sopping wet that he had all but forced him into it. 

Connor had smiled so brightly, he remembered.

_ “Your concern is appreciated but I can’t get cold, Lieutenant, _ ” he had chuckled lightly as he examined the way Hank’s hoodie ran a good several inches over either of his hands. 

_ “Y’well fuckin’ wear it anyw’y f’christ’s sake. Makes’me feel less gui-guilty,”  _ he had slurred before Connor helped him back to the couch. Hank had fallen asleep to the sound of the game on the TV and the soft, repetitive rasp of a brush through Sumo’s coat after Connor had towelled the big oaf off. 

Hank later woke covered in a blanket and to a clean house, a coffee table with a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin, and a groomed dog - he hadn’t even remembered the hoodie or realized it was gone.

It was old and it was battered - even stained in places. Just a soft, plain hoodie with the logo of the police academy he had gone to ages ago scrawled across its front. A hoodie Connor might’ve gotten himself if he had been brought into this world a flesh and blood man rather than a machine. Seeing him on the couch now smothered in it Hank could almost envision what that life might’ve been like. Connor, top of his class.

He went about cleaning up the shattered glass on the kid’s kitchen floor to distract himself from the allergies that suddenly had his throat so tight out of nowhere. Fucking allergies. 

“This makes no sense,” Connor said from the couch, drawing his attention. The kid looked annoyed from his cocoon, his lap covered in tissues and his nose so stuffed now with this artificial cold that his words sounded cotton-y and congested.

Hank looked over as he finished pulling the broom from the closet, brows raised as he tracked Connor’s expression back to the TV.

“Hmm?”

Connor drew a hand out from his blanket and sweater cocoon to gesture at the TV. On the screen a spokeswoman for the police commission was making a statement about the virus.

“At this time it remains vital that all androids avoid opening any e-mails or documents from unknown senders or from making direct neural contact with any infected individuals. Information at the moment is minimal but as of right now any infected units can anticipate cold and flu like symptoms like any human adult might suffer them. Please keep in mind that these symptoms are merely programming forcing certain processes within the body to emulate illness, that these symptoms will pass in four to seven days and that if you are infected you are not in danger. Please just stay indoors so as not to spread it while we determine how far and quickly this outbreak can move. Keep an eye on the news for when a firewall will be released to prevent further infections and for anyone who is infected, please consume additional fluids per your manufacturer as often as possible to avoid any complications from the mimicry of nasal, eye and sweat gland drainage. Please stay calm, stay aware and stay safe.”

Hank turned to look at Connor just as the spokeswoman began to go into status of the fugitives responsible. On the couch Connor looked more than a little peeved.

“This is inefficient. Why would anyone do this?”

“I think that’s the point, kid.”

“Well, it’s a stupid point.”

Hank chuckled as he began to sweep the broken glass into a tidy pile.

“H-Hank,” Connor said, drawing his attention again. The kid looked concerned and Hank couldn’t help but soften when the android’s sentence was suddenly interrupted with another loud sneeze he thankfully managed to cover with a tissue this time. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doing it,” Hank shot back as he swept the shards into a dustpan.

“You might cut yourself.”

“And you might sneeze your wiry brains out. Shit happens.”

“ _ That’s possible?!” _

Hank looked up, a sassy retort on his tongue, only to blink at the absolute terror on Connor’s face. He let out a huge, huffing chuckle of a breath and shook his head.

“Only if you don’t cover your mouth,” he joked, but the sarcasm was apparently lost on Connor who immediately brought his tissues to his nose and held them there determinedly. “I’m  _ joking,  _ kid. You can’t blow your brains out sneezing.”

Connor narrowed his eyes at him from over his tissues and appeared to be about to say something before the disc at his temple suddenly flickered and Connor’s face went slack. Hank’s stomach lurched as the moment hung, Connor’s delay lasting far longer than it had any reasonable right to. He rose to his feet and quickly dumped the glass into the trash before rushing over to the kid, one hand on his feverish brow as he asked, “Kid, can you hear me? Are you okay? Connor!”

Connor blinked twice, then as though he had never been still his face regained that glow of intelligence that was purely  _ Connor _ as he jerked away, surprised by Hank’s sudden nearness and seemingly alarmed by something.

Without another word the lithe android began to scramble on the couch as though to get up. The lieutenant quickly put a hand on either of his shoulders and held him down in his seat with disturbing ease as Connor continued to struggle.

“Hank, quit it!” He said, “I’ll be late!”

Hank blinked.

“Late? For what?”

“For work! Let me go!”

“Connor, it’s nearly noon. We’re well past  _ late _ at this point,” Hank snorted, and all at once Connor fell slack beneath his hands and sank into the couch, eyes wide and cheeks pale.

“No,” he mumbled. “No, that can’t be. My operating system is telling me that it’s only 8:32AM.”

Hank rose up to his full height and scrubbed a few fingers through his beard as he realized he would have to tell Connor - the android that had always put the mission and his work first - that he had missed his first day of work conceivably ever. With a little sigh he just turned around and gestured mildly to the TV.

He watched as Connor looked from him to the screen, obviously not comprehending the action, until finally his eyes fell upon the station’s feed at the bottom of the screen. There, right next to the logo, displayed the date and time in clear serif letters - 12:39PM. 

Connor’s mouth fell open and he shook his head in short, slow little motions as his disc lit up with dismay, trying to process what he was seeing.

“But my alarm…”

“It’s the virus, kid. It’s got your OS all out of whack. It happens. But don’t sweat it. The captain already knew you were sick, he didn’t expect you in once he realized what that fucker had sent you. You’re fine, Connor. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Connor rasped and sat up straighter, shaking lightly. “This isn’t fine! I missed work, I can’t stand, I can’t regulate my body temperature or stop whatever leak is making all this fluid come out of my nose! I can’t even focus! This isn’t fine!”

At the end of his outburst Connor melted back into the couch, seemingly exhausted from his tirade, and murmured, “And I’m… I don’t even know how to describe it, Hank. I… I don’t want to move.”

Hank crossed his arms with a fond look and said, “You’re tired. It’s called being tired. Join the club, kid.”

“There’s a club for being sick?”

“Jesus, I was being facetious.”

Connor frowned.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Be facetious. It isn’t efficient.”

Hank blinked and let out a surprised little bark of a laugh.

“Efficiency has nothing to do with it.”

“Well it should. It’s not efficient dialogue.  _ This _ ,” he said, gesturing to his nose, “isn’t efficient. It makes no sense! I - I -” Connor’s words tapered off into a surprised little look.

“You what?” Hank prompted.

“I… I don’t like it,” Connor said, soft and awed.

Hank smiled.

“Welcome to being human, kid. Sick sucks.”

“Yeah,” Connor muttered as he closed his eyes and leaned back into the warmth of his cocoon, “It does. I don’t know how you humans do it.”

Hank snorted as he picked up Connor’s fallen book from the ground and gently set it on the coffee table before moving to sit down next to the kid - mostly certain he couldn’t catch a virus from an android.

“We don’t really have much of a choice. No one’s cracked that one yet.”

“Inefficient,” Connor mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed. Hank peeked his way before changing the channel to sports, certain the kid was on his way to a nice nap and wouldn’t mind. Just as he found a game he’d enjoy he blinked at the feeling of a weight slowly settling upon his shoulder - Connor, face smooshed against Hank’s arm and quickly spiraling down into whatever equivalent androids called ‘sleep’. 

Hank smiled, safe to do so while the kid was asleep, and chuckled, “Sleep tight, kid,” before turning back to his game. He’d make sure the android drank plenty of additional fluids or whatever the woman called it once he woke up. For now, he’d let him sleep - inefficient or not.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive the grammar, I still need to come back for a round of edits.


End file.
